


Redemption

by lil_1337



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-28
Updated: 2006-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the <a href="http://sdqb.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://sdqb.livejournal.com/"><b>sdqb</b></a> 444 prompt love and the <a href="http://gw500.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://gw500.livejournal.com/"><b>gw500</b></a> prompt sugar</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This ficlet was inspired by a gorgeous piece of artwork created by [](http://t-shirt1x2.livejournal.com/profile)[**t_shirt1x2**](http://t-shirt1x2.livejournal.com/), which can be seen [here](http://usera.imagecave.com/t-shirt/exibition.jpg). Feel free to drool, I did.

The big top was in shadows, the crowds gone for the night when he found me. I'd seen him in the audience during the show, but I don't think he knew. It's hard to miss him; the way the light bounces off his hair draws the eye, as does the quiet confidence he exudes in a way that makes him seem powerful and safe at the same time. That is the contradiction that is Quatre; powerful and weak, strong and soft all at the same time in ways that confuse and confound the mind.

I stayed behind, lingering, knowing he would prefer to search me out than have me find him. It feeds his belief that he is control not only of the world around him, but himself and the process of how his life unfolds. Quatre knows that down inside of him is a darkness that gnaws at his soul. Its there in all of us and once it's been let it loose it forever pushes at you, trying to darken and corrupt everyone and everything you touch. The lighter the person, the stronger the darkness they fight

Quatre's seen his darkness, the shadows that choke and twist his humanity. The raging anger that drove him to build Wing Zero and seek out revenge for injuries done to him and his family. Others may excuse away his actions, saying that Zero was controlling him, but the hatred was in him already. It was there when his father was stripped of control, and heated to a white-hot fury as he watched his father die, the impact of the explosion almost robbing him of the sister he had just found. Zero just helped him see where punishment should be meted out. Quatre knows this; it's what haunts his dreams and drives him to make amends for the slightest transgression, imagined or not.

In the middle of the center ring is a cross, the new backdrop for Cathy's knife throwing act. Quatre reaches out to touch it, fingers sliding over the sanded wood. It's smooth and warm to the touch I'm sure, still retaining the heat from my body where I stood in front of it earlier. I'm not surprised when he turns, positioning himself so his back is against the hard surface. Mirroring my stance as I stood, still as stone, trusting in Cathy.

Stepping from my hiding place, I move quickly across the floor, not giving him time to respond or react. As he steps towards me I place a hand on his chest, pinning him to the cross. I'm not a religious man but I know enough to understand and appreciate the symbolism of crucifixion and absolution. Duo was right when he said that given enough time Quatre would blame himself for the lack of air in space. The cross he bears is not one that can be seen with the eyes; it requires the heart and vision of someone who knows and loves Quatre to make it clear.

He looks at me, the question on his lips unspoken, communicated only through his eyes. Leaning in, I kiss him softly, reassuring even as I whet his appetite. He melts into me, distracted and unaware as I tie his wrists to the cross bar. Breaking the kiss, I slowly pull away, watching the play of emotions as he realizes what has happened. I stand silently as he pulls with one arm then the other, assessing his ability to get loose.

"Do you trust me?"

It is the first time I've spoken and the sound of my voice seems to surprise him because he stills. Now focusing on me instead of the ropes holding him in place. From above his head I pull loose the three knives that are still stuck into the wood where Cathy has left them. They are heavy and solid in my hand, comforting in their familiarity.

"Do you /trust/ me?"

He nods this time, slowly and a little hesitantly but an affirmation of my question regardless. The first knife embeds itself in the wood next to his head. He swallows hard, but the only notable reaction is the way his fingers curl around the rope holding him in place. He doesn't flinch or pull away, nor does he turn his head to look.

"Do you trust /me/?"

This time he holds my eyes, letting his speak for him. Opening himself up so I can see the desire and fear. Not of me or what I might do to him, but of letting go and putting himself completely in someone else's hands. Terror in the knowledge that if he gives up his control, that this time he might do more than cause me temporary amnesia. The second knife kisses the outside of his thigh, landing as close to his body as possible without pinning him.

"Do /you/ trust me?"

"Yes."

His voice cracks on the S making him sound like a schoolboy in the throes of puberty. His eyes beg me to release him, fear rising as he realizes my intent to push him past the comfortable safe zone he's created for himself. The illusions of control already beginning to show themselves for the artificial constructs they are. I smile, reassurance and strength transmitted through the simple gesture. I know and understand his fears but I have no intention of letting him hide behind them any longer. The third knife I hold up, showing him what I plan to do next.

"/I//trust//you/." I tell him, emphasizing each word to show the importance that they play, both as individuals and the statement they make together. I throw the final knife, pinning his shirt to the board. His eyes never leave mine though the tension in his body held him as rigid as the cross behind him. "I would trade places with you without hesitation."

"Trowa." All of his frustration, fear and need are spoken in a single word. There is so much that needs to be said and so little that he is able to force himself to express. I step forward, kissing him long and slow, our lips the only contact between our bodies. He tastes as he always does, sugar sweet mixed with the bitterness of regret and loss.

I move closer, my leg slipping between his. His lips part and a small sound escapes. He sags, letting the ropes take his weight so he can rub himself on my leg. Grinding against me even as I apply pressure on his cock. My hands go to his shirt and with a single motion I rip it open. It hangs there, missing buttons obvious in the torn threads and small rents in the expensive cloth. I let the fabric slide through my fingers so the two parts hang loose, exposing his pale skin.

With one hand I cup his face, fingers lightly brushing his cheek. The other works its way down inside his trousers so that I can stroke his cock. I let my leg support him as he rides it, trying to get enough friction to take him over the edge. My lips work their way up his throat, lingering on his Adam's apple as he swallows into the pressure. I could hurt him, or kill him right now, and he knows it. Knows that if the situation were reversed he would be wondering if that is what he would do. Lose control and do something he would regret for the rest of his life.

"Let go," I whisper into his ear, my fingers working their way up and down his cock. His head lulls back and he moans softly. Torn between the sensations in his body and the need to remain calm and in control that scream in his head. I smile against his skin knowing he will feel it. The need to go down on my knees and take him in my mouth is so strong I can almost taste him. Fighting my urge, I kiss my way to his other ear, licking the edge before nipping the lobe, repeating my earlier words. "Let go, Quat."

The sound that escapes his lips is a cross between a groan and a whimper. It raises in volume as wet warmth coats my hand. He falls back against the cross, chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to breathe, and all semblance of composure is gone. His skin is flushed a bright pink and a single bead of sweat makes its way down his face, disappearing into the collar of his ruined shirt.

After a moment, the intensity of his breathing eases and Quatre raises his head to look at me. No words, just a look that goes through me. He swallows and bites his lip. Tears roll down his cheeks as silent sobs rack his body. With agonizing slowness he opens his mouth and utters the three words I need to hear. The ones that say he is ready to accept that no matter what he does, I will always love him. That he is ready to allow himself to believe that I can be stronger than the darkness because he is my light.


End file.
